


Solamen Miseris

by Soaring_Ren (Robin_Knight)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A Screw on a Pew, Alternate Universe, Christianity, Crisis of Faith, Demons, Depression, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Priest Kink, Romance, Theology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Knight/pseuds/Soaring_Ren
Summary: Shiro questioned his faith. The depression hit hard and fast, leaving him wondering whether he was worthy to lead his flock, until a certain demon appeared before him: Keith. He never thought he would find himself through finding another.





	

# Solamen Miseris

“Are you closed?”

“We’re always open to a weary traveller.”

Shiro turned to face the newcomer. The desert was always so cold at night, so that the open doors felt an absolute burden, but he knew what sanctuary meant to a few wayward tourists or the occasional homeless person unable to find room at the shelter. There was a beautiful sky beyond those doors, which reflected down the many stars and the bright light of the moon, and – closer to earth, closer to his heart – he saw the small town just beyond.

The newcomer closed the doors behind him, so that only the candlelight lit his frame, and – as the soft lighting bounced and moved about his dark complexion – Shiro was forced to swallow hard as a spark of arousal passed through him. This was a beautiful man. Those blue-grey eyes penetrated all that they gazed upon, while also hard and absent from emotion, and that black hair was just enough to emphasise his youthful features. He wore a cropped red-and-white jacket, which exposed his barely covered abdomen, and fingerless gloves . . .

“You always stare like that?” asked the man.

Shiro fought back a blush, as he looked away toward the pews. There was a sharp ache to his facial scar, which reminded him of his previous battles with personal demons, and it also reminded him that a person so attractive likely wouldn’t be attracted to him in turn. He still stole glances to those trousers that looked painted upon toned legs, while the belt with large pouches hung just enough to almost be a pointing-arrow to indecent areas, and Shiro drew in a deep breath, as he moved back towards the pulpit, where he touched upon the lectern.

“I’m sorry,” said Shiro. “I wasn’t expecting –”

“Someone so attractive? Thanks for the compliment.” The man gave a smirk. “It’s not a sin, you know . . . not really, anyway. The story of Sodom and Gomorrah is a parable about showing hospitality, with the sin being inhospitality, and the book of Leviticus is generally considered superseded by the New Testament. Then again, you probably know this.”

“You listened to my sermon?” Shiro furrowed his brow in surprise. “It always amazes me how many people misinterpret the bible. Just today a woman condemned her son for being bisexual, quoting Leviticus, until I pointed out she wore clothes of two fibres.”

“Not to mention the fact she ate shellfish for dinner,” teased the man.

“How do you know what she ate, Mr -?”

Shiro smoothed out his cassock, as he looked back to the man. There were many who came to church for the first time during moments of confusion, and Shiro had certainly never seen this man in his congregation that he could remember, and yet – as the man walked down the aisle with a swing to his steps – he could almost believe that they knew each other, albeit perhaps in a dream or a long-past memory that clung on by a sheer thread.

The man stopped before the lectern and placed his hands upon the sides, so that long fingers came within a bare millimetre of the bible opened upon its surface, and – for some strange sense of instinct – Shiro closed the leather-bound book. He let his hands rest upon its surface, while he looked to the man before him. The younger man was shorter than him, although not by much, and he angled his head to look up at Shiro with something close to absolute respect, which Shiro could not recall from even those within his fold. He felt uncomfortable.

“My name’s Keith,” said the man.

Shiro licked his lips, as he fought back an urge to flirt with Keith. There was something dangerous about him, while his body spoke of a man that knew how to fight, and – despite Shiro’s past experiences – the last thing he wanted was to fall into temptation. The church around him was about salvation . . . redemption. The cross that hung above the altar was a constant reminder that one man – no matter how persecuted or alone – could make the world a greater place and could contribute to the lives of others. Shiro drew in a deep breath.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Keith,” said Shiro.

“Likewise,” replied Keith.

* * *

“I’m supposed to believe you’re a demon?”

Shiro moved from pew to pew, as he checked the bibles were in place. He barely even paid a glance to Keith, who – even after several weeks of daily visits – still appeared to wear the exact same outfit, so that he appeared more of a cartoon character than a demonic ally of the devil. The younger man seemed obsessed. He would attend every service, attend every charity event, and even offered help in various support groups. At night, he would visit Shiro at his home and sit with him to discuss theology and philosophy.

It was almost a nuisance, but his constant presence was also a relief. Shiro watched as Keith lay back upon the furthest pew, so that his head hung over the wooden surface and into the aisle, and – almost indecently – his legs hung over a pew each, so that they were spread so wide that it put improper ideas into Shiro’s head. Keith held a bible in his hands, as he read from a seemingly random page with total indifference. He was impossible to understand.

“That’s what I told you,” said Keith.

“‘ _Resist the devil and he will flee from you’,_ James 4:7,” called out Shiro. “I only need to turn around this past month to see you in sight; I would have taken out a restraining order, except it’s been nice to have intelligent and mature company. Still, by my very position as a spokesperson of the lord, I resist evil and Satan by default. Why are you here?”

“Define ‘resist’,” muttered Keith. “You’re lonely. You’re a biracial man that clings to the Church of England, despite the fact he moved to America to escape his demons, only you _can’t_ escape your demons, can you? Sendak knows you’re here. He’ll come.”

Shiro felt something claw at his throat. It was the same something that gave him pains in his prosthetic arm, as if the limb were still there and still susceptible to sensations, and he looked to Keith and saw Sendak for a brief second. The air grew cold; it compressed his chest, it stole his breath, and he felt the beginning of an anxiety attack threaten to steal away the last semblance of his self-control. The flashbacks and nightmares came into his mind, while his body grew cold and weak, and – if he didn’t keep faith – he knew he would break.

There was a flurry of movement from Keith, who was at once by his side, and – as Shiro struggled to fend off hyperventilation – he was guided into the pew and positioned with his head between his legs, while a hand rubbed circles at his back. He would have laughed, as he felt vulnerable when it was his job to be strong, but there was oddly no one else he would trust to see him in this state . . . not even Matt or Allura.

“Hey, relax, Colossians 2.4 and 2.5,” said Keith.

“ _‘Lest any man beguile you with enticing words . . . I am with you in spirit’_ ,” recited Shiro with a breathless voice. “You’re right that God is always with me, but you’re wrong that you’re a demon, Keith. What demon would comfort a person like me?”

“Well, I’m no angel. You probably already know that there is no hell, right? Well, there is a hell, but it’s no place of fire and brimstone. Dante Alighieri has a lot to answer, Shiro . . . used to be a time when people believed that the worst thing in life was an absence of God, where they acted nice because being nice was _good_ , instead of simply trying to avoid some sort of eternal punishment. You -? You’re trying to redeem yourself, but why?”

“I guess to avoid punishment,” admitted Shiro with a sad laugh. “I did some terrible things, Keith, especially when I thought Sendak owned me. I gained enough scars that I’ll never forget the past, while every day I look in the mirror and I’m reminded what I did, and I want – I _need_ – to prove that I’m not worthless, that I’m not evil . . . I don’t want to be damned.”

Shiro pulled himself back upright. He ran his hands over his face with a long sigh, as he sank back into the pew and felt Keith slide in beside him, and – as he looked to the younger man – he realised that the prosthetic limb didn’t seem to repulse Keith as it did with other people in the small desert town. Lance had visibly hesitated in shaking his hand, while Hunk always made sure to keep his hands clasped behind his head, and yet Keith did not seem to mind.

“Ever read Christopher Marlowe?” Keith asked.

There was a genuine curiosity in Keith’s voice, which was unusual for him. He often spoke without emotion, only expressing himself when it came to anger or confusion, and yet he sat beside Shiro with an obvious sense of affection. It had been over two years since Shiro last laid with anyone, while every touch from Keith only served to remind him of his long abstinence, and he relished how each moment of contact lingered between them, until Shiro mourned the absence of his hand and fingers and presence. Shiro swallowed hard.

“You’re very well-read for a demon,” teased Shiro.

 _“‘Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it. Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being deprived of everlasting bliss?’_ ” Keith shrugged his shoulders. “You’re already in hell, Shiro. You know what God is supposed to be, but you committed sins and let yourself feel irredeemable, and so long as you let yourself feel worthless -? You’ll be worthless.”

“I could almost believe this is hell,” whispered Shiro. “It feels like hell; it’s this pain deep in my chest, as I think back on the people I hurt and how I let myself be used, and I don’t see how I can ever be forgiven. Each day I wake up and I -! I actually pray for death, because I can see no end in sight, no way out of this pain, and it just won’t _stop_.”

“‘ _For where we are is hell’._ I know that all too well, Shiro, but there’s always hope. The only way to damn a soul is for it to damn itself. Sendak knew that. I know that. The only person that _doesn’t_ know that is _you_ . . . redemption has to come from within.”

“I just have to forgive myself, is that it?”

Keith shrugged, as he picked up the bible from the floor. Shiro hadn’t even realised it had fallen in the kafuffle, but he watched as Keith picked it up and perused its contents, and it was enough to remind Shiro that ‘hell’ was something quite different in the bible to everyday belief by the masses. It was no surprise that Keith – assuming he told the truth – didn’t burn at the touch of the holy word, but it was a surprise when he caught his eye and gave a cheeky smile that made him seem all the more youthful. Keith reached out for Shiro’s collar.

“‘ _That holy shape becomes a devil best_ ’,” teased Keith.

Shiro laughed for the first time in memory.

* * *

“Did you see that counsellor?”

Shiro jumped in surprise at the voice. There – in his living room – sat Keith upon a nearby sofa, where he flipped through an old magazine with a bored indifference. He was dressed in what looked like an old shirt of Shiro’s, which was baggy and oversized on his smaller frame, and the shirt dipped over his shoulder revealing a large expanse of bare skin. There were clearly no trousers or bottoms, while his long toes toyed with the shag-pile of the rug.

It took all of Shiro’s self-control not to give into temptation; he raised his hand to the neck of his polo-neck jumper, where the silver chain of his cross lay against his collarbone, and he held tight and began to recite the Lord’s Prayer in his mind. He could not justify entering a sexual relationship with someone, not if the relationship wasn’t long-term and serious, but he knew that Keith was a demon and he still didn’t know his intentions. The fact he broke into Shiro’s apartment, where he wore Shiro’s clothes so freely, was a difficult sign to understand.

Shiro shrugged off his coat, as he slid it onto the coat-rack. The summer made it unnecessary to wear such outer garments, but a childhood spent in Japan made it something of a force of habit, and – despite the many months of Keith in his life, ever the voice of reason – he still found it a necessary comfort. Shiro walked into the living room, where he sat opposite his closest friend and noticed that the magazine was quite obscene in nature.

“Well, did you go?” Keith asked.

“I did, but I’m not sure if it helped.” Shiro leaned back in his armchair. “He told me that feeling hopeless is a valid way to feel, so I shouldn’t be ashamed, but it is a sign of clinical depression. I apparently shouldn’t wake up every day feeling that I’m just _waiting_ for something to happen, that my existence is meaningless, and that nothing matters.”

“I could have told you that,” muttered Keith. “In fact, I _did_ tell you that. I also told you that you need to see a professional, because a demon that crashes in your apartment isn’t the best source for learning coping mechanisms or achieving emotional recovery.”

“Since when have you been crashing in my apartment?”

“Since this morning. Thank you, by the way.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow and looked about the room. There – in the far corner of the lounge – was what looked like a nest more for an animal than a human. It consisted of various blankets and duvets, all piled together in a haphazard manner, while piles of clothes and various personal items sat around the edge. If Keith was right, he was less than a century old; it seemed strange that someone so old should have accumulated so little possessions.

“Hey, Shiro?”

The soft voice caught Shiro’s full attention, as he looked across to Keith. There was a furrow of confusion on the demon’s face, as he threw the magazine down onto the coffee table, and – as it landed with pages open and exposed – Shiro caught sight of what looked like a priest balls deep inside an altar boy, albeit one that was thankfully old enough to consent. He wasn’t sure that he had the self-restraint to say ‘no’ if Keith asked him to recreate the scene, but luckily Keith just gave one of his shrugs and sat back with crossed legs.

“‘ _Love your enemies,_ ” said Keith, “ _do good unto those that hate you’,_ Luke 6.27.”

“I really don’t understand,” said Shiro.

“You’re your own worst enemy.” Keith gave a warm smile. “You love everyone in this world, but yourself. Why are you so special? How come you’re so unique that you’re exempt from your own rules? If you believe that everyone can be redeemed, that every life is equal, then why are you the only one irredeemably damned? You aren’t _that_ special, Shiro.”

Shiro laughed despite himself, until he realised that there were tears. He tasted them upon his lips, something salty and real, until he brought a hand up to his face to wipe them away with callused fingertips. It was the first time that anyone had interpreted the bible so freely around him, while also the first time that anyone was so brutally honest about his self-hatred, and it was enough to make him think – with time and with counselling – he could come to see himself as Keith and his congregation saw him: a good man with a good heart.

He reached out to the magazine and flipped it closed, before he stood up and confiscated it from Keith with another laugh, and – as he walked across the apartment to throw the inappropriate material into the wastebasket – he began to distract himself by pulling out the leftover takeover boxes. It wasn’t exactly healthy to fry up old meals, but somehow Keith seemed able to keep thin and healthy on even the worst of foods.

“I could easily fall for you,” admitted Shiro.

Keith did nothing except smile back.

* * *

Shiro watched as Keith returned.

The collection plate looked full this week, which would help wonders with the local homeless shelter and provide a good deal of food for the following fortnight, and he saw how Keith brimmed with pride as one of the elderly women congratulated him on a job well done. It amazed Shiro how Keith always had time to help out so much, especially when he didn’t appear to work any conventional jobs, and Keith only joked that being a demon paid well.

It wasn’t long before the congregation left the church. The doors were closed and only Keith was left, as he leaned against the lectern with a loud sigh, and – as Shiro quirked an eyebrow in amusement – he turned to give his boyfriend his full attention. He saw the beautiful pout on Keith’s lips, as well as how he toyed with something in his pocket with a conspicuous gesture, and Shiro couldn’t help but glance curiously to his pocket in silent question. The hand was soon removed and Keith revealed a small felt box.

“What’s this?” Shiro asked.

“It was a year to this day when I first revealed myself to you,” said Keith. “I might not be the sentimental sort, but I know how much anniversaries mean to humans. I didn’t want to not get you something, so . . . yeah . . . this is for you, Shiro.”

Shiro took the box gently into his hands. Keith immediately turned his back on him, where he hunched his shoulders and looked down at the tiled floor with insecurity, and Shiro – as his heart broke for the demon – opened the box to see what was inside. It was a silver cross. The design was incredibly simple on a matching chain, but the inside was inscribed with ‘god is love: John 4.8’. Shiro felt a tear rise to his eye, as he brought the box to his chest and clenched it with all his strength. He knew he would cherish it always.

“The only thing more beautiful is _you_ ,” whispered Shiro.

Keith turned around with tears of joy.

* * *

Keith gave a loud cry.

It was all too human, filled with passion and pleasure, as his voice echoed about the church. The stained-glass windows were too high for people to see inside, while the doors were locked and bolted shut, but still – as Keith whined and cried and moaned – Shiro worried what people might think should they walk past. There was an ache in his ears from how vocal Keith sounded, so loud and so expressive, and every word sent shivers down his spine.

Keith wrapped one hand deep into Shiro’s hair, which sent sharp tugs of pain through his scalp, while the other hand entangled itself around the cross that hung from his neck, and – as he pulled Shiro down into a deep kiss – Shiro relished in how the necklace remained as a constant reminder of their two years together. The kiss was deep and affectionate. Shiro tasted the honey that his lover used over his dairy-free ice cream, while he felt every vibration from every moan, which was barely captured and muffled by the kiss.

Shiro moved his organic hand to Keith’s length.

There was little room between their bodies, joined in the most intimate of places, but he managed to wrap his fingers around what was a long and slender member. It was slick with pre-come; the sticky liquid kept brushing against Shiro’s cassock, staining it in places near to the buttons, and Shiro – too overcome with arousal – lamented not removing it completely. Instead, it was open up to the waist, where it opened to reveal trousers pushed down to his knees, and it provided something like a curtain of modesty around them.

The cassock hid Keith’s legs wrapped around his waist, with feet pressed against the small of his back, and it hid the way that Shiro plunged inside a surprisingly lubricated behind, which was proof that his lover planned this before he came to help ‘clean’ the church. Keith was tight enough to perhaps be a virgin. Shiro daren’t ask whether other men came before him, or how many ever explored Keith, but it didn’t matter and didn’t change the pleasure.

“Shiro – S-Shiro, so good,” whispered Keith.

Shiro barely had time to answer, as he was pulled back to the kiss. This time brought both hands into his hair, clinging so much that he felt pain with pleasure, and the tongue of his demonic lover took absolute control over the kiss, as it explored every crevice of his mouth with an astounding level of expertise. It felt so good to have Keith sprawled beneath him, naked as the day he was born, with back arched and inner channel clenching around Shiro’s length with unbearable perfection. The pew beneath them began to creak in protest.

“I love you,” murmured Keith. “I love you.”

One hand pulled away from Shiro’s hair, so that it could work its way up his naked chest – brushing against Shiro’s cassock – until he could find a dark nipple, already erect from the cold and from arousal. It was so deeply erotic to watch, as Keith flicked and twisted it exactly how he liked it, that Shiro lost the rhythm between his thrusts and hand-movements, until he stilled inside Keith and barely retained a hold on his length. He could only watch.

Keith’s moans were staggered and broken, too many cries from pleasure, as he writhed on the pew and clenched hard onto Shiro’s hair, and soon he arched his back and revealed the perfect column of flesh – marked only with one love-bite – to Shiro’s sights. Those legs pulled Shiro impossibly deep; he felt his testicles pressed almost painfully close to soft buttocks, while those hot inner walls tightened with constant fluttering movements, and the sweat that poured over him caused his black uniform to cling to his skin. The length in his hand twitched.

Keith let out a full-blown scream.

Those blue-grey eyes turned a violent shade of red, while canines flashed into outright fangs, and – with instinctual reflexes – Keith’s hands shot out to drag lines down Shiro’s back. It tore strips from his uniform, although not from his skin, and they stopped only when they reached his buttocks to pull at him, as if they could somehow pull him closer still. Shiro felt the ropes of come over his hands, each one a large spurt, until they it slowly began to dribble down his fingers and the length in hand became soft, as Keith gave a hiss of discomfort.

Shiro moved in earnest. He thrust hard inside of Keith, no longer necessary to aim for that sweet spot or focus on his pleasure, and yet – with love too deep for the demonic boy beneath him – he still aimed for his prostate and locked eyes with him. Shiro let go of his lover’s length; it would be a good length of time before he was hard again, and Keith always disliked too much stimulus after coming, but he did massage the skin of his stomach with the come.

It wasn’t long before he came in turn, as he burned the image of Keith upon his memory.   He never wanted to forget the way those dilated eyes – half-lidded and filled with affection – gazed up at him with total adoration, just as he didn’t want to forget how Keith let one hand rest on Shiro’s and let the other play with the come. The way Keith brought two fingers . . . soaked with come, dripping with white liquid . . . to his plump and swollen lips . . . as he gave a low moan and drank with ecstasy his own bodily fluids from long digits . . .

Shiro gave a choked cry of bliss.

The orgasm ripped through every muscle of his body, until his eyes rolled back and his breathing stopped for a brief second, and the absolute pleasure was too much to bear, something beyond anything with any past lover. He thrust several times into Keith, until he felt come begin to drip out onto the pew, and – as his body washed over with the perfect afterglow – collapsed down onto Keith, who emitted a huff of breathless discomfort. Shiro only chuckled as he rolled them over, so that now Keith was laid on top of him.

“I can’t believe I’ve fallen in love with a demon,” said Shiro with a gasp.

“Corinthians 13.4 to 13.8,” muttered Keith.

Shiro gave a soft laugh, as he reached up to stroke Keith’s hair. He realised that it was a shared trait with the other demons, those like Sendak, but – as he pushed his anxiety way, focussing only on the moment and physical sensations – he realised he never felt this safe with any other person in his life. Keith gave a gentle purr, as he rested his head against Shiro’s chest and listened simply to his heartbeat. Shiro felt his eyes begin to tear.

“Is that you’re way of saying you love me, too?”

“Maybe,” teased Keith. “Just maybe.”

Shiro kissed him with a laugh.


End file.
